In a Book Club Far Away

by Tif Marcelo

  “Baby?” Matt prodded, taking her from her thoughts.

  “I… want to revisit us.”

  She heard him gasp and then realized that might have been the wrong way to start the conversation.

  “What I mean is, Matt… I don’t know if we want the same things, for the future.” Then, she winced, because that was worse. “Oh my goodness. This isn’t coming out right.”

  “Adelaide.” Matt’s voice was serious now. Somber. “Please. Please just come out with it.”

  Adelaide shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She counted to three. “I don’t think that I want to have another baby.”

  His answer came quickly. “Well, of course not. You’ve got to recover. I would never force it. Babe, we have time. There’s no reason to rush.”

  “What I mean is—I don’t want to have any more babies.” She took another breath. “I know this isn’t something you want to hear. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

  “A while…?” His voice trailed off.

  “I wasn’t completely sure until… until all this… mess here. I had been getting hints but not truly understanding what I needed. And now I do.”

  “I thought that us waiting to have a baby had everything to do with me”—his voice croaked into a sob—“being away. That’s it, right? You don’t want more kids with me because I’m always gone?”

  “That’s part, though not all of it. There’s something more, deeper.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I… I don’t know. I’m still processing it myself. Are you mad, Matt?”

  “No.” His answer was definite and clear. “No, I’m not mad. I’m not here to pressure you, Adelaide, but I guess I have to be honest and say that I’m a little sad to think about our family being complete. And I’m confused because I feel a little sideswiped. But no, not mad.”

  “Okay.”

  “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you, or our family, or Genevieve. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean we can’t talk to each other. The worst of all this, for me, was not hearing from you. I was falling apart over here. I was worried—”

  “I don’t want you to worry.”

  “I… of course I worry about you. Because I miss you, and I love you. You’re my best friend. Even if you’re sitting on some beach somewhere having a margarita, I’ll still worry.” He inhaled. “What can I do, from here?”

  “I don’t know. We can just keep talking, I guess.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and a nurse hovered by the entrance. The day shift had commenced, and this new nurse’s demeanor was fresh and awake. “Just checking in, Mrs. Wilson-Chang.”

  Adelaide nodded. “Matt, I have someone—”

  “I know.” His voice was tender. “Just give me a call later, okay? We need to keep talking. Love you, babe.” Matt hung up without listening for her answer. Inside, Adelaide felt a mix of pain and relief. But she slapped an imaginary Band-Aid on it, pressed her hair in place, and once again smiled. She nodded for the nurse to come in.

  The nurse glanced at her clipboard. “I have an order here for discharge.”

  “What time?” She couldn’t wait to go home. She missed her bed and Genevieve. She wanted to see where these new feelings took her, and she was eager to recover her time with her friends.

  “Looks like if your afternoon vital signs and pain level are in control, you have the green light.” She looked around the room. “Do you have someone who can take you home?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Great! Let’s schedule it for me to come in an hour to do a full assessment and some discharge teaching, and aim to get you out of here at around three p.m.? Is that good?”

  “Sure. It sounds good.” Adelaide emptied her lungs of air. Her mind wandered to the nest of emotions that were tangled together, but with the light of hope behind it.

  Yes. She was definitely good.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Sophie

  March 2012

  The first day of spring brought the sun and a blessedly quiet afternoon.

  The day’s snowfall was different. It wasn’t a thick blanket of ice that blocked the vision outside one’s windows. Instead it fluttered downward to the ground as if Sophie’s little neighborhood were ensconced in a snow globe, like the world was at the tail end of hibernation. The temperature had climbed into the thirties most days, with the general mood of the neighborhood rising with it.

  On this day, in a miracle, Sophie’s girls had been content playing in their rooms and were now taking a late-afternoon nap. The free time allowed Sophie to read. As of yet, no one had volunteered for the next book club meeting nor had a book been designated, so she dug into Breaking Dawn, the fourth installation of the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. Sophie had become hooked on the series, though she hadn’t admitted to anyone else how deep her obsession was. At book four, she was still #TeamJacob all the way.

  Six months into deployment, Sophie had gotten into a groove. Her family routine was working. She and Jasper were solid. Her friendships were thriving. Grad school would begin in June and she looked forward to it. There was no drama. Aside from a couple of check-ins with Adelaide and supporting Regina as her belly grew, things were calm on her side of the door.

  So when Sophie’s phone buzzed on the couch cushion—a call from her cousin Mario—she sent the call to voice mail.

  It was an unkind gesture, and Sophie felt a pit of guilt in her belly. Family was a subject she didn’t really discuss but that remained an ever-present shadow in her periphery. Over the years, she’d simply disassociated herself from her father and extended family; she’d let go of all the distraction and emotions that used to invade her heart for days after communicating with them. But what came with that understanding was the knowledge and sometimes the guilt that it was her choice to break away from them. A good choice, but a shameful choice to make nonetheless.

  Mario only called to update her on her father. The two men lived together in Nassau, where her paternal family came from. Her father had returned to his childhood home after Sophie’s mother had died, abandoning her to her mother’s sister—may she rest in peace with the angels—who comforted and cared for Sophie in every way. In her mind, she was orphaned the day her mother passed.

  And she wasn’t in the mood, not today.

  The last time Mario called, he’d asked for money, insisting that her father didn’t have enough to buy his medications. Drama had ensued in her refusal to send money when he had never lifted a finger for her, when at the time, she didn’t have enough money herself—young soldiers were paid in pennies, and at the time Jasper was a Specialist and she was pregnant with twins and on bed rest. In her empathy, in the past, she’d often taken her family’s issues to heart. Sometimes she’d even try to solve issues not in her control, and these days she couldn’t take responsibility. She had her own little ducks to keep safe.

  Unless someone was part of the military community, they—her own family included—did not understand what it meant for a family to have a deployed soldier. They seemed to forget that it was she who was alone, that it was she who needed support.

  The phone beeped with a voice mail message. But instead of listening to it, she drew a bath.

  She turned off the ringer of her landline, set her cell to vibrate, and left the door ajar so she could hear her daughters while water filled the tub. She inhaled the scent of the rose bath oil she poured into the water—smelling the roses—for the first time in forever.

  She sank into the water. She wiggled her toes against the warmth and relaxed in it. She turned on the iPod and stuck an earbud in her ear, and marveled at how this tiny square could hold her most favorite songs, and then shut her eyes.

  Why didn’t she do this more often? Why didn’t she take care of herself first? A bath every couple of weeks, a shopping trip for herself. Maybe a movie on her own. She thought of the upcoming months and promised herself time and space…

  The next s
econd, she awoke to her girls rumbling around the house. She blinked, eyelids heavy, skin pruned. She scanned the bathroom for her cell—she must have forgotten it in the bedroom. But the water was tepid at best, so it had to have been at least an hour.

  Time to face reality—Sophie supposed that she had to resume her motherly duties. She unplugged the tub stopper and turned on the faucet to warm, drew the shower curtain, and rinsed off, taking her time, while commotion ensued in her apartment. Her girls yelled for her. Which, on some days, was par for the course, but along with the humidity of the bathroom, a heavy feeling descended around her.

  Her sixth sense started tingling. Shrugging into her bathrobe, she popped out of the bathroom. “Girls?”

  The girls were giggling, and when she discerned that there was nothing else beyond that, she sighed with relief. She followed their voices into the living room, where Olivia and Carmela were piled up on her office chair. Olivia pressed on the mouse button with a forefinger, and the other typed on the keyboard.

  “Hey, you two. What did I say about playing on the computer?” She laughed to release some of the tension that had built up in her chest, but Carmela was pointing at the screen. “We want to call Daddy.”

  Sophie clicked on the mouse and onto Skype, and sure enough her girls had tried to call him. She clicked to try the video chat again, but it went unanswered. “He’s probably not in yet. I’m sure he’ll call soon. It’s his nighttime.”

  She scanned the living room, but nothing was amiss, so she squashed down her hypervigilance, padded back to the bedroom, and threw on sweats. She picked up her cell phone, still facedown on her bed.

  She’d missed nine calls and nine voice mails.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  A memory flashed: of Sophie at nineteen, stumbling home after a perfect party night, exiting her dorm building elevator, a smile plastered onto her face, sleep calling for her, none the wiser until she turned down her hallway.

  Today has been too perfect.

  Sophie’s knees buckled. She steadied herself on the bed, slightly hunched down. The girls erupted with their announcement that someone was at the door. Numbly, she made her way to the front of their apartment, clutching her phone in her hand. The path to the front door was not far at all, three hundred meters at most. But she took forever to get there, her legs weighed down like sandbags.

  They’d talked about this moment, at pre-deployment briefings. The technicalities of what must happen at the Notification. The war had been going on for a decade now, but people were still dying. Many were getting injured. She’d witnessed some of the aftermath of a tragedy. The funeral, the ceremonies. The grieving fellow soldiers and family members left behind. The memorial runs where they’d write the names of the fallen on their running bibs.

  The risk still existed. Sometimes, Sophie’s denial made her forget how much danger Jasper and their unit was in. She’d needed to get out of bed every day to take care of her kids, to take care of herself. Everyday life had to occur, and Sophie had to keep her head clear.

  Holding her breath, she watched herself reach out to open the door, and it swung open to her friends on the other end. Regina and Adelaide. Her eyes darted behind them; there was no one else. No soldier in a uniform. No chaplain.

  “Oh my God. Is it Jasper?”

  As if reading her mind, Adelaide said, “No, no. It’s just us. No one else. Oh, Sophie.” Her friend rushed at her. “It’s not Jasper. But I’m so sorry, Sophie—”

  “Not Jasper,” she heard herself say, still stuck in the moment of fear, and yet it transformed to confusion. Because Adelaide was still hugging her, and Regina’s face was crestfallen, her eyes glistening with the beginning of tears.

  “Jasper called us. He’s been frantic, because your cousin emailed him. Because he couldn’t seem to get a hold of you.”

  “I was… I was taking a bath. With earbuds. And I napped for a bit,” Sophie babbled. She was being led by the hand, she realized. She sat on her couch. “What is it?”

  “It’s your father, Sophie. I’m so sorry, but he passed.”

  The world twisted on its axis. “My father?”

  It was the last thing she said before the word went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Regina

  Regina couldn’t get the sight of Sophie fainting out of her mind. A full twenty-four hours after she and Adelaide had showed up at Sophie’s front door, Regina was still shaken up. Sophie was an edifice of strength, and Regina’d wrongly assumed that Sophie’s family was similarly unflappable.

  When asked when she would leave for the funeral, Sophie had said the cost would be prohibitive. Flying to Nassau with two children—who didn’t know her family—would be too challenging.

  And that was why Regina was on the phone now, speaking to the one person she’d felt orphaned by. She had sympathized with Sophie; through her, Regina had realized that there would come a time that one couldn’t keep denying their past. And if there was a time to bring herself to face rejection, the time was now, when something beneficial could come from it.

  “Regina?” Emilio Castro’s gruff voice brought a pang to her heart, and an equally bitter taste in her mouth. It was familiar and strange all at once, and took her back to when she was a little girl, nuzzled up against him, the whiskers of his five-o’clock shadow rough against her forehead.

  “Dad.”

  “Iha, it’s been a long time. Is everything okay?”

  She winced at his insinuation that she’d only call if she needed something. Then, she reminded herself that yes, she was there for a favor. She couldn’t be ashamed now, not after what he’d done to their family. She had the upper hand.

  “With me, yes. I’m fine.” She held back from mentioning the pregnancy. She was already exposing herself with this call. She hadn’t spoken to him since she was commissioned an officer almost three years ago, because no matter how hard he’d tried over the years to mend their torn relationship, she wasn’t yet willing to stretch her comfort.

  So she plowed right into her prepared speech. “But I have a friend here in New York who isn’t okay. Her father died. The funeral is in Nassau. Her husband is deployed, as is mine, and she’s alone with two twin girls. I thought that maybe, with your pilot and airline benefits, you could…”

  “Oh.” The dip in his voice was evident, and a sure sign of his disappointment that this was not a social call. Beats of silence passed.

  Regina hung on like she was climbing a rope in training. All arms and legs even if her heart screamed, Just forget it! Why are you doing this to yourself?

  Because this was the man who had disappointed her, time and again, despite a piece of her that would always wish for the quintessential father-daughter relationship. That she could get back the good times and purge all the bad.

  Sometimes, hope hurt the most.

  After a long pause, he said, “When does she need to fly out? Three tickets or for just her?”

  She croaked an answer, taken aback. “Um… as soon as possible, and for three, if you can swing it.”

  He mumbled something indistinguishable, which indicated he was working out a few things in his head. She imagined him sorting through a pile of paperwork, perhaps looking at his calendar on when he needed to fly next.

  Her father had been an adventurer. Add the pilot’s license, and he had lived his best life, amassing pictures on film he’d develop when he returned, showing her mother all he’d seen while she stayed at home to take care of Reggie and her brothers. None of those pictures depicted him with the other woman he ended up settling with, or other women prior to that, whom he had brief affairs with. Of him exploring this hidden other life he thought he was missing out on.

  “Iha, give me the day to work this out.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll call around to see the best way to get this done and how many tickets I can get. Since she’s under a tight time frame, and it’s the peak season for travel, I can’t make any promises.”

 
“Okay. Great.” Regina said, gratefulness rushing out, though hindered somewhat by pride. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “I’m sorry that you thought that. Because all I ever wanted was to be your dad. Your mom and I didn’t work out, but you can always come to me—you and your brothers. I want to take care of you.”

  “And yet—” she began, and then stopped. She shut her eyes. Now was not the time to rehash years of anger, because it was never about money. It was about him stepping up, about him running away.

  She couldn’t mess this up for her friend. She tried her words again. “Thank you. Will you call me back and let me know, soon?”

  “Yes, of course. But, Regina—”

  “Bye, Dad,” she said quickly, and hung up. She pressed her hand against her belly, against the baby that was growing in it. She apologized to its spirit for her rush of emotions, for the anger and the disappointment.

  She also promised it that she would do everything in her power to keep it from heartbreak.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Adelaide

  “Promise me you won’t worry about the girls. Reggie and I have them,” Adelaide said to Sophie, while standing at the restricted boarding area of Syracuse Hancock International Airport. The airport was bright, airy, and modern, but among them was the feeling of urgency. She handed Sophie a lunch bag. “From Reggie. A sandwich and brownies.”

  Sophie’s face crumpled. “You guys are just so good to me.”

  She smiled lightheartedly. The last thirty-six hours had been a whirlwind for all of them. With the help of Regina’s father, Sophie was registered as his guest and could fly at a discounted fare. To their surprise, Sophie chose not to take her kids with her, since the experience could potentially be more traumatic than helpful.